Strange Bedfellows
by Delwin
Summary: A necessary reevaluation before the meeting of two captains. Written for the VAMB 2014 Secret Drabble Exchange.


**Author's Note**: Written for **CallHerVictor** who asked for a Janeway and Chakotay piece with the first line, "Form your own opinion." J&C or J/C, as the reader chooses to interpret.

Thank you, yet again, to the _Star Trek_ overlords for the loan of their possessions. And endless gratitude to **Photogirl1890** for her encouragement and beta reading skills.

**Strange Bedfellows  
**"Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows."  
**-**_**The Tempest**_, 2.2

Form your own opinion.

It had been her mother's mantra, an almost daily reminder as far back as she could remember.

"_Form your own opinion, Katie."_

A scientist's reaction to raising her children in a Starfleet family – in a Starfleet admiral's family at that. Starfleet hierarchy and regulations had their place, of course, but they could never – would never for _her_ daughters – replace the ability to evaluate a set of data given the particulars of the circumstances and come to one's own conclusions.

Form your own opinion, Kathryn.

Over the last month, she had scrounged through every snippet of information available on the man that she and her newly launched ship had been tasked with tracking down: his personal history (_grew up on a border colony now occupied by the Cardassians; applied for and was granted early admission to the Academy)_; his Starfleet career _(impeccable service record with notes on his sometimes brilliant tactical abilities)_; his resignation letter from Starfleet (_curt and angry_); the few known details of his activities with the terrorist Maquis organization since then...

Added to that, she delved into the brief but telling reports sent back by Tuvok which hinted at the man's weaknesses: his too easy trust of others; his occasional tendency to become fixated on a particular course of action; his perhaps somewhat too strong personal loyalties.

She searched for angles, loose edges to pry away at – anything that might give her the insight she needed to complete her mission.

None of that had prepared her for the man who materialized on _Voyager_'s bridge, clad in leathers with his phaser drawn, tattoo prominent and dark eyes wary, muscles tensed and coiled – looking for all the world like a modern day pirate.

Nor had it prepared her for his actions since then: risking his ship and his crew to rescue one missing crew member; cooperating with _Voyager_ during the Kazon attack at the Caretaker's array and ultimately sacrificing his own vessel to save a race of people about whom he knew almost nothing; enforcing her own authority and captaincy with his crew.

For the last two days, she had gone back through that same data, that same portfolio of information, looking now not for an advantage but for understanding.

What had compelled him to abandon a promising Starfleet career and to turn his back on the Federation and on a treaty drafted and signed in order to safeguard the lives of millions? What might have driven him to join up with and become the leader of a group of vigilantes?

Form your own opinion, Kathryn.

She looked again at that sketch of his early history and at the take-over of his home colony by the Cardassians, the details of which were left (she only now recognized) suspiciously vague. She reread through that resignation letter, noticing not just the anger and bitterness this time, but the palpable sense of betrayal. She scoured those details of his Maquis activities, seeing, now, not only the pattern of his attacks and aggressions, but also where he had chosen not to act and the targets that he had bypassed.

Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, she looked up from the myriad of reports in front of her. Outside the viewport of her ready room, the stars of the Delta Quadrant formed their unfamiliar patterns. _Voyager_ was unmoving – or at least relatively so – hanging in space while her depleted engineering staff scurried to make the repairs needed to begin their long journey home.

_Form your own opinion. _Well, seventy thousand light years from Starfleet Command, she really didn't have much choice on that one anymore.

She had already done a complete turnaround in her evaluation of Tom Paris, plucked out of prison three weeks before with little expectation other than that the favor might please an old friend. Three days ago she had handed him _Voyager_'s conn (_...and apparently the bridge along with it, from the report that she had gently pried from young Mr. Kim. She would need to remember to keep Lieutenant Rollins assigned to more administrative rather than command duties in the future..._)

But there was a difference.

She stood and, cupping her ever-present mug of coffee (blessedly still warm) in her hands, moved to the viewport, looking out to the stars as she examined the not exactly pleasant nature of that difference. Tom Paris owed her – a fact of which they were both tacitly aware. With that release from prison and, even more, with that gift of the conn, she had ensured a certain advantage for herself in their relationship – an advantage that Kathryn Janeway, stranded two quadrants from home, would be more than willing to use.

With the Maquis captain, on the other hand, should he accept her...proposal, the question of who owed whom – and what – would be, at the least, much less understood.

Could she trust the man?

And did she have a choice?

One hundred and eleven. That was the grim number of Starfleet crew members who had survived when _Voyager _had been flung into the Delta Quadrant. One hundred and eleven. On a ship that was designed to be run by over one hundred and fifty. And the casualties had been particularly heavy in engineering where Carey was basically stringing together a skeleton crew. The situation was unsustainable for more than a couple of weeks, not to mention for a multi-decade journey across the galaxy.

The ability to evaluate a set of data given the particulars of the circumstances, indeed. And these circumstances were particular.

Form your own opinion, Katie.

Behind her, the ready room door chimed. Taking one more sip of coffee, she called out the command that would allow the doors to open.

"You asked to see me, Captain?" His voice from the doorway was soft and even, but still with that edge of wariness. She knew he was standing just inside the door, awaiting her first move.

Aware of every aspect of her expression and posture – the brightness of her smile, the balance of authority and welcome in her eyes, the relaxed but efficient set of her shoulders – she turned. "Yes, Captain Chakotay," she acknowledged, gesturing toward her desk. "Thank you for coming," and her smile brightened intentionally and fractionally. "Will you have a seat? I have a proposition for you..."


End file.
